At a dinner at a conference last year, I was enjoying great conversation with a few colleagues from districts throughout New Jersey. We drifted to an often overlooked topic, mental health for leaders, and I prefaced my strategy with the caveat that it might sound weird. My friend Derek confirmed that it did, indeed, sound weird, but effective and encouraged me to write about it. I’m about a year behind, but here it is (thanks Derek) — enjoy!

Serving as a superintendent during the COVID response helped me frame the methods of torture devised in Greek mythology. Getting bitten by a three-headed dog didn’t seem so bad – I mean, it’s just three heads. Pushing a stone up a hill only to have it roll back down every time you’re just about to hit the peak felt vaguely familiar. And being chin deep in water with low hanging fruit above and fresh water below, but being unable to get a sip or bite? That seemed on brand for the experience. 

Not surprisingly, my mental health reflected the hamster wheel of frustration. There was no finish line and that was further compounded by sleeplessness and a foregone exercise routine. Whether in Storage B (my makeshift office in my basement ) or my actual office, I rarely left my desk, and felt curiously guilty if I wasn’t in front of a screen. 

That last part changed, however, when a moment of self-awareness forced me to take workday breaks, so I decided to walk with some new friends. And the impact of that change was profound.

These new friends didn’t care about masking in their park-like setting.

None of them yelled at me.

Social distancing wasn’t an issue.

And not one of them asked anything of me, blamed me for things well beyond my control or intruded on my mental space.

My new friends shared one other trait: all of them were dead. Their resting place is the well-maintained cemetery across the street from my office and the walking path there provided literal peace and quiet, and a break from all the noise.

Mercifully, the pandemic response is now a distant memory, but I still value my daily walks in the cemetery. Away from the demands of work and life, the path takes me on a 15-minute mental break that includes fresh air and an ongoing local history lesson. 

It’s distressingly easy to get sucked into the relentlessness of any role that seems to lack an off switch. To break that routine, we just need a little grace to allow ourselves to take time away and then enough intentionality to form the habit so that we can carve out escapes that enlighten and restore.

Admittedly, some people still get weirded out when I tell them that I enjoy walking in a cemetery, but I’m not here to win their judgment. Instead, I prefer to focus on how this beautiful little space provides a place of peace.

Whatever your workplace, I encourage you to remind yourself that the somewhat-refreshed version of you is likely much more productive than the on-my-last-nerve-and-going-screen-blind version of you, and then allow yourself to step away and reset.